


Torchwood Daze: Five Times Jack Harkness Made Ianto Jones Lose His Dignity (And One Time Ianto Turned the Tables)

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 5 Things, Angst, Award Nominees, Cranky!Owen, Dom!Ianto, Games Jack and Ianto Play, Gen, Humor, M/M, Porn With Plot, Pre-Slash, Slash, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all in the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ianto's Second Day at Torchwood Cardiff

**Author's Note:**

> The ratings for individual chapters vary from "Teen" to "Explicit".
> 
> Completed August 5, 2012.
> 
> Nominated for the ""Bedtime Stories (Best NC-17/PWP/Kinky)" category of the "No Rest for the Wicked Awards", October, 2012.  
> 

Owen paused at the door that lead to the Torchwood garage and patted his pockets.

_'Mobile, wallet, keys--brilliant. I'm good to go,'_ he thought.

It was Thursday evening, the unofficial start of the weekend for the University set. Not that he was one of them anymore, but he could still party like he was. A night of drinking and socializing stretched before him, and after the week he'd had, he deserved it.

_'Weevils crawling out of the bloody woodwork. Suzie getting her knickers in a knot over something I didn't even say (well, I did say it but I didn't mean it). The boss spending more time "training" the new bloke than he did the rest of us put together and leaving us to deal with the day-to-day shit. And to top it off, us pretending to believe that rubbish line that Jack hired the kid for his Torchwood London experience when we know Jack doesn't give a flying fuck about London and it's a whole different "experience" he's after. Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all.'_

Yeah, Owen really needed this evening. He'd just swing by his flat, grab a quick shower, and be at his favorite club in time for the first drink special of the night.

He pushed open the steel door and nearly hit his boss with it.

"What the fuck, Jack--”

"Shh!” Jack grabbed Owen by the arm, yanked him out, and pushed him against the wall. The door fell closed beside them, silent on well-oiled hinges.

Adrenaline kicked in, sending all of Owen's senses on high alert. He reached for his weapon while his eyes scanned the area in front of him. “Where--” he whispered, then trailed off when he realized that there was no immediate danger. Jack was merely watching something. So Owen watched too.

The new bloke, Jones (his first name was Iolo or Ianto, some Welsh nonsense that Owen could never remember) was crouched in the middle of the garage, tugging at an industrial hose that was caught on something.

Suddenly, the hose came loose and the young man fell back. Water sprang from half a dozen tiny holes, sending spray arcing in all directions, including a generous amount on the young man's face. He muttered something under his breath, righted himself, and wiped water out of his eyes. Then he stood and gamely wrestled the leaky hose over to where the Team's Range Rover waited.

Their latest adventure had been a messy one and vehicle was coated end-to-end with an array of grisly substances. There was noxious black mud the consistency of wet cement, and bits of gooey gray tentacle from the giant squid-like creature that had exploded when they tried to remove it from the Bay. An alarming amount of Jack's own blood, shed when the creature bit him, completed the grisly palate.

To the young man's credit, he didn't flinch from the state of the SUV; he merely hoisted the hose and directed the spray at the worst of it. And not for the first time, Owen observed, if the copious amounts of water dripping off both vehicle and man were any indication. The squelch of his trainers was audible from where Owen stood.

When he deemed the car was sufficiently soaked, Jones exchanged the hose for a bucket that contained some sudsy liquid, dipped a brush into it, and began scrubbing away.

"He's diligent, I'll give him that,” Owen observed, turning to Jack. “But why are you hiding back--”

"Shh!” Jack ordered again, and pointed. Owen looked again, and his eyes went wide.

Jones had bent over and stretched to his full length in order to reach every inch of the windshield. As he did so, his white t-shirt rode up, revealing about two inches of creamy skin, and his sodden cargo shorts stretched across his behind, outlining one of the finest arses Owen had ever seen. Like the rest of the young man, it was fit, but just rounded enough to fill out the shorts nicely.

"Ohh,” Owen breathed, realizing that the reason their Captain was skulking about like a proverbial pervert in the bushes was because he _was_ a pervert in the bushes. Well, the shadows. And now Owen was one too.

Jones went up his tiptoes, legs spread for balance, and Jack made a little noise of want deep in his throat.

"Jack,” Owen said, not taking his eyes off the view, “Please tell me that you're not thinking of bending that kid over the bonnet and having your way with him."

"O.K. I am not thinking of bending that kid over the bonnet and having my way with him.”

Jones came back down, rinsed the sponge in the bucket, and then started scrubbing said bonnet, his strong hands making firm, determined circles that the mess on the chrome would not stand against for long.

Owen took a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah. Me neither."

Twenty-five minutes later, after Jones had to adjust his clothing three times, the SUV was a thing of shining beauty and Owen had added “a furious wank” to his mental list of things to do before his night out on the town.

Jones turned off the water and coiled the hose neatly, then scooped up the bucket and headed for a utility cabinet around the corner, affording his audience a good look at how well his clingy, translucent t-shirt outlined the muscles of his back.

Owen opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say died on his lips when Jones reappeared and headed right for them.

"She's all set, Sir," he reported as he drew near. "Clean inside and out and fit for duty."

When no response was forthcoming, he paused, a look of consternation flickering over his face as his eyes went from Jack to Owen and back again.

"Christ, he's eager to please," Owen realized. "What a noob."

The young man's gaze followed theirs and moved down to his clothes. He flushed. "I apologize for my waterlogged state. I must look a sight."

_'Got that right,'_ Owen thought, realizing only now that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it with a snap.

"Not to worry, Ianto," Jack said, finding his own voice. "You still look much better than Owen here on his best day." He smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring, but had too many teeth in it.

Ianto didn't seem to notice. His pained expression eased a little. "Thank you, Sir. You're very kind, but if it's all the same to you, I think I'll get changed before I start my inventory of the contents of the kitchen."

Jack managed a short, professional nod.

_'Probably taking all he's got not to offer to rip those wet things right off the kid,'_ Owen noted. Not that he was feeling any such impulses himself. Not at all.

Ianto started past them to the door, then paused again. ""By the way, that hose, if you'll excuse my saying so, Sir, is well past its prime. I'd be happy to look into replacing it for you."

"Fine, Ianto. You do that," Jack said.

"Consider it done," Ianto said, with a small smile, before opening the door. "Owen," he acknowledged as he passed the medic, and went inside.

The door snapped shut, breaking Owen out of his trance. He blinked, then turned to look at Jack.

"So. Jack. When were you planning to tell him that we have a long-standing account with a 24-hour car wash? That will come pick up the vehicle if need be?

"Huh? Oh, that. Soon. Very soon.”

"Mischievous blue eyes met Owen's brown ones, and they burst out laughing.

"Like hell you were."


	2. Some Time After Their First Time

"Jack, please." Ianto's gaze was fixed on Jack's hand, as if by staring at it he could will it into action.

"Nah. I don't think so."

Ianto groaned. "Pretty please?"

"That's cute, but still 'no.'"

"Might I point out that we did what you wanted the last _three_ times?"

"Might I point out that I'm the boss?"

"That shouldn't matter when it's just the two of us."

"Oh, but it does."

"I can see that."

If Jack didn't know better, he'd think Ianto was pouting. He relented a little.

"O.K. But only if you ask really, really nicely."

"Seriously?"

Ianto _was_ pouting. It was a good look for him.

Jack nodded. "Go on, then," he prompted, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Ianto took a deep, steadying breath, then looked up with wide, earnest eyes.

"Jack, I know how much this means to you, and without question you deserve it, which is why I do my best to accommodate you, always. But it would be the highlight of my day--no, my week--if you could see your way clear to doing me this great favor. I would never, ever, forget it. I'd consider myself deeply in your debt, and I'd do anything you wanted to repay you. Anything at all."

Despite the fact that this speech was delivered without a hint of Ianto's habitual sarcasm, Jack's mind was fairly sure it was complete and utter bullshit. His body, however, was responding to the fact that Ianto Jones was _begging_. Sweetly, and with class, but begging nonetheless.

"Fine," Jack croaked, holding out the keys to the S.U.V. "You can drive."


	3. Reconnaissance Mission

"I can't believe you're making us do this," Ianto said, scowling.

Jack looked at the queue of tourists stretching across the Quay, a line Ianto had thought was long _before_ he'd realized that it doubled back on itself, and grinned.

"It's the perfect cover,” he said “We believe the trans-dimensional teleports are planted at popular landmarks around Cardiff, right? Well, this is how we can get close enough to investigate them them without attracting attention.”

“Forty-five people hanging off the top of a bright red bus wired for sound?" Ianto snorted. "I think we'll be attracting plenty of attention."

“Not the kind that will raise any alarms, Ianto," Tosh said, fiddling with the scanner in her bag. "No one looks twice at tourists. It make sense."

Dismayed, Ianto looked from one to the other. Jack, with his booming voice, bright toothy smile and flat American accent seemed to fit right in with the huddled masses. For that matter, so did Tosh. She'd changed into a casual floral sundress for the occasion and the scanner she was tweaking could be the latest PDA for all anyone knew. Ianto, on the other hand, a Welshman born-and-bred standing in the queue for a tour of Cardiff, felt like he stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.

He knew that this was probably all in his head, but he didn't care.

“I hope nobody recognizes me,” he grumbled, jamming a pair of giant wrap-around sunglasses on his face.

Jack's too-loud laughter caused caused Ianto to wince. “Now who attracting attention? You look like an insectoid invader from Planet Creepy."

“Or like you just came out of an all-night rave.” Tosh put in helpfully, smiling. Ianto turned to her, open-mouthed.

“How do you know what that looks like?"

She shrugged. "I saw a documentary."

A whistle blew, and the crowd started inching closer to the doors to the bus.

“I still don't see why Owen couldn't do this,” Ianto grumbled as the gaping Double Doors of Doom came into view.

Owen's voice crackled over the comm.

“Because I pulled rank and Jack didn't object. Also, I'm too busy Photoshopping your picture next to the photo of the 'Hop On, Hop Off' billboard and uploading it to the Internet."

“Owen, you'd better not be serious or my retribution will be swift and terrible. And it will involve pouring hot coffee places no hot coffee should ever go."

“Boys, boys! Stop flirting," Jack said, earning a cackle of laughter from Owen and a mutinous look from Ianto.

“Relax, Ianto. It'll be fun," Jack assured him.

The line moved, but Ianto didn't. Jack took his arm and tugged, and he finally, reluctantly, shuffled forward.

“It'll be a great way to see the city,” Tosh encouraged.

“I've seen it.”

They climbed to the top of the cherry-red, double-decker bus, where Ianto dropped into the first seat he saw and hunched over.

“Besides, I'm allergic to tourists,” Owen's too-cheerful voice came over the comm.

“You could have fooled me. You sure pull enough of them in those dives you frequent,” Ianto said.

“Ignore him, Ianto. Here, you can work the camera,” Tosh said, holding it up. It looked like an ordinary 35mm with a run-of-the-mill telephoto lens, but Tosh had tricked it out with alien tech that greatly increased its sensitivity and range. It even picked up sound. As she seldom let anyone else touch it, for her to offer it to Ianto was quite a gesture.

“Fine.” Ianto grumbled, muting his comm in annoyance. “But if Owen makes one more joke I'm going to deck _him_.” Ianto took the camera and wrapped the strap around his wrist, earning a smile of approval from Tosh. He managed a short nod in return.

Jack chuckled and put his hand on Ianto's knee. Ianto shot him such a fierce glare, evident even behind the shades by the sharp downturn of Ianto's mouth, that he removed it immediately. Ianto was willing to be mollified by Tosh who was, after all, following orders just as he was. But Jack he wasn't ready to forgive yet.

Their guide turned on the sound system, causing ear-splitting feedback to reverberate through the speakers, and the bus lurched forward, sending Ianto sliding so far forward on his plastic seat that he whacked his knees on the back of the seat in front of him.

“When will this be over,” he moaned, clapping the hand that wasn't holding the camera over an ear.

“In about two hours.” Jack said cheerily.

_'All in the line of duty,'_ Ianto told himself, trying to get a grip. _'Maybe I'll take the photo that cracks this case wide open. Maybe I can use this experience in the Tourist Office somehow. Maybe I could rewrite that brochure with all the typos and add my own photos.'_

Any mollifying effect this might have had vanished when their young, perky guide started speaking and proceeded to get two historical facts wrong in the first five minutes. Ianto looked at Jack in disbelief, but Jack was staring, enraptured, at the young woman's tight t-shirt and Ianto knew he'd find no help there.

To distract himself from the misguided monologue, Ianto opened the map that they'd been given upon boarding and discovered that their planned route would take them right through his neighborhood. Right by his very building, in fact.

As a final indignity, he could feel his nose getting sunburned.

It was going to be a long afternoon.


	4. The Pub Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: References to S1.4--"Cyberwoman" and S1.8--"They Keep Killing Suzie"

Jack plunked his glass of ice-water down on the bar and spun around on his stool to scan the crowd.

"How about him?”

Ianto took a long swig of his lager. “Jack...”

“No? All right, him, then. In the back, about to bend over the pool table, if we're lucky. There he goes! Yes! There is a God!”

Ianto scanned the man wielding a pool cue and sighed. “You don't believe in God.”

“I did, once. This guy I dated in the '70's, he could do things in bed that were 'out of this world', as we said that time. I was convinced he couldn't be human. Turned out he wasn't, but he wasn't a god either. At least I don't think he was. Now alien, yes, definitely. Though I never found out what galaxy he hailed from.”

"Jack, are you sure that's only water in that glass? You're babbling.”

Jack grinned. “What? I'm just excited. It's not often we got to go out together.”

"We were out last week."

"Drinks with the team don't count. Especially since Gwen spent the whole time crying into her beer and Owen picked a fight with the bouncer and got us all thrown out.”

“I told you it was too soon,” Ianto admonished. “It takes more than three days to get over having your life-force sucked out of you by a dead co-worker. Or, in Owen's case, having to pick up the pieces and then get the cold-shoulder whenever he tries to make a move on Gwen.”

"I was just trying to help,” Jack said with a frown. “It was supposed to build team morale.”

“I can't speak for the team but my morale definitely improved when we left before Midnight Karaoke."

"Pity, that." Jack sighed. "I was going to make you sing a duet with me.”

He brightened when he spied a couple coming in the door. “Look at that! Identical twins, blonde, almost six feet tall. Which one do you want, the one in the blue dress, or the one in the red?”

"Jack, I told you, I'm not interested.”

"Awww, lighten up. It's a game. We're not really going to pick anybody up. Well, not unless you want to,” he added with throaty chuckle.

"Ja-ack!”

"Ianto-o!” Jack replied, mimicking Ianto's exasperated tone perfectly. “Come on. Just tell me who you like.”

“I won't. This game is utterly juvenile."

“Most games are. That's why they're fun. Don't look now, but I think the bartender is giving you the eye. Come on, tell me you don't want her. With that spiky red hair and those piercings, I bet she's a spitfire in the sack!”

Ianto groaned.

"If she's got an equally hot friend, we could double-date."

_“Jack!”_ Something different, something brittle, in Ianto's tone made Jack turn around and really look at him.

Ianto was wearing a strange, twisted expression and was sitting stiffly, as if it was taking all his willpower to keep himself from flying apart.

“I. Don't. Want. Anyone. Else," he whispered fiercely, the words so sharp that Jack thought he could cut himself on them. "I don't even know what I'm doing with you!"

"Yan? What's going on?"

Ianto shook his head and and averted his eyes, but not before Jack glimpsed something disturbing in them. Something broken.

Jack realized that he'd made a big mistake.

Not in taking Ianto to bed, no, that had not been a mistake. But he had assumed that given how quickly Ianto had gone from being in love with Lisa to well, being with him, that Ianto was like him: able to take pleasure with whoever life presented him without getting his heart involved. Without getting attached.

He saw now how wrong he had been. Ianto might have appeared to make a smooth transition from Lisa to Jack, but going by the tortured expression on Ianto's face, it hadn't been easy for the young man at all. It probably still wasn't.

How long had it been since Lisa's death, anyway? More than a month, but probably not two. Not long at all, by the way twenty-first century humans reckoned such things. The cryptic young man hid his feelings beneath his sardonic manner and sharp suits so well, it was easy to forget how recent that trauma had been.

Jack had been very interested in learning what lay beneath those sharp suits. But only in the literal sense.

_'I never even asked how he was doing with all this,'_ Jack thought with a stab of guilt. He felt about six inches tall.

"Look, Ianto I'm sorry if..."

Ianto held up a hand. "Save it, Jack. I don't want to hear it."

"But..."

"I just want you, all right?" Ianto said, sounding more agitated than Jack had heard since, well, the day they'd executed Lisa. "Why is that so difficult to understand?" Several people turned around to see what the disturbance was.

The two men stared at each other; Jack open-mouthed, Ianto turning crimson. Then Ianto stood up so fast he nearly knocked the table over in the process, and made for the loo.

Jack watched him go and wondered if he'd ever truly understand this enigmatic young man.

"You do have me," he replied softly, though he knew Ianto was out of earshot.

_'Even though you deserve so much better,'_ he added in his head. Better than what he could offer, because he knew his limits. Better than what Torchwood would offer, because he knew its limits as well. But Jack would never say any of that.

And when Ianto came back, Jack knew they'd both pretend this had never happened.


	5. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Reference to S1.6--"Countrycide"

The First Monthly "Team Initiative Progress Report" ("TIPR") Meeting, where the Team briefed each other on the projects they were working on individually, wasn't going well.

Tosh's laptop froze in the middle of her presentation, necessitating a ten-minute break to get it fixed. Owen wasn't prepared at all, a fact which he tried to cover with a combination of bluster and made-up facts until Jack took pity on all of them and asked for a report by the end of the day. Jack himself refused to divulge what he was working on or whether he was working on anything at all. And now it seemed like Gwen would never stop talking. She had been going on for so long that even Ianto, whose idea this meeting had been in the first place, was ready to concede that TIPR meetings might not be as conducive to Team cohesiveness as he had first thought.

"So I spoke to PC Andy--you all know him--who agreed to speak to Inspector Tarian who has a crush on him. She in turn agreed to use her family connections to Constable Broderick to get access to the Restricted files, if I would get Rhys's firm to help her move all her belongings to London next month..."

... And on and on for twenty-five minutes.

Ianto stifled a yawn and glanced around the room. Owen sat, scowling, with his legs up on the chair next to him and his arms folded, staring at the ceiling. Tosh appeared to be listening politely, but Ianto could see that the notes she was taking consisted of numbers and symbols that had nothing to do with Gwen's report. Their Fearless Leader was resting his chin on his hand and appeared to be asleep.

Ianto was just about to excuse himself to fetch another round of caffeinated beverages when Gwen paused dramatically and then brandished the object of her intrigue—a large, crumbling map of Cardiff that purported to show a network of secret underground tunnels throughout the city.

"They link all the government buildings, financial institutions, and historic landmarks as well!"

Jack's eyes opened then, and he peered with interest at the map. Then he frowned.

"Let me see that,” he said.

"Careful, it's rather fragile,” Gwen said, walking over and placing it front of him.

"It seems familiar somehow,” Jack mused. “Ianto, doesn't it seem familiar?”

"It's hard to tell, Sir. So many maps look the same."

"Well, get off that beautiful butt of yours and and come have a closer look,” Jack said.

Ianto, inured to the implicit harassment, made no reply. He rose, walked over to the head of the table where Jack sat, and gazed down at the map for a long moment.

"Well?” said Jack

“I, erm...” Ianto broke off and swallowed hard.

"Go on, spit it out.”

Ianto glanced sidelong at Jack, who had gone from looking half-comatose to looking like a wolf that had caught the scent of a prey animal.

"It does look familiar, Sir,” he conceded.

"And why might that be?"

This was a question that Ianto had hoped would not come. He took a deep breath before replying.

“Because there's a copy of it hanging on the wall in the room under your office. Sir."

Gwen's eyes widened as she processed this.

“You mean Torchwood already had this information?”

Ianto nodded.

“And you let me go on and on about my big discovery? Ianto! We went over this yesterday! Why didn't you say something?

"Well, you showed me a map of tunnels, but I couldn't be sure it was the same...” Ianto began, then caught a dark look from Jack and winced inwardly. His memory was near-photographic, and Jack knew it. Hell, they all knew it. He swallowed hard. "...one," he finished weakly.

"Why would you do that?” Gwen asked.

"Yes Ianto, why would you do that?” Owen chimed in, looking interested at last.

"I... I didn't want to hurt your feelings,” Ianto said.

"You what? I'm a big girl, Ianto!” Gwen exclaimed. “For goddsakes! I can take it.”

Ianto closed his eyes. Here he'd been trying avoid upsetting her, and she was upset anyway.

"You wouldn't spare Jack's feeling about such a thing, would you? Or Owen's?” Gwen continued. She caught a glimpse of his miserable expression, which seemed to mollify her a little. In a quieter tone, she added, “Then why me?”

"I didn't mean...” He wasn't sure why he had done it, actually. He had barely given it any thought at all. Now she was all but accusing him of being sexist. Had that really played a part in his decision? He didn't think so, but it was hard to argue with her logic. And her angry, betrayed expression cut him to the quick.

"I just... you seemed so enthusiastic,” he said.

"And so you proceeded to waste all our time,” Owen said. “That's just great, Ianto.”

Jack had been watching their back-and-forth like a tennis match, but now he intervened.

"What have I told you about not holding things, back, Ianto? You're a part of this team. We need to know what you know, when you know it. Sure, this was minor, but what if you decide to sit on something more vital the next time? We need to know what you're thinking when you think it. We'll decide if it's important. Do you understand me?”

Ianto stared at Jack, wondering how things had got out of control so quickly. It was true, Jack had spoken to him on the necessity of not keeping secrets from them (a speech he knew he well-deserved) but he failed to see how it applied in this case. He knew better than to argue with Jack in front of the team, however.

"Yes, Sir,” he mumbled.

"You better,” Jack said, sitting back and folding his arms behind his head. “Or the next time I think you're holding something back, I'll just have spank it out of you.”

Owen made a mock gagging sound. “Oi, thanks for nothing, Harkness! I'll never be able to get that image out of my head."

Gwen rolled up her map and sat down. “Oh Jack, you wouldn't either.”

Tosh was still making notes in the margins of her paper and didn't seem to have heard.

“Oh, wouldn't I? Try me.” Jack said. "Maybe that's what we need around here, some more discipline. Probably do you lot a world of good to be bent over the boardroom table when you misbehave." He chuckled. "Good effort, Gwen. Sorry it was a bit redundant. Let's move on to the next order of business. Ianto? What's next?"

When Ianto didn't reply with his usual alacrity, Jack looked up at him.

Ianto stood as if frozen in place; his eyes gone wide in a beet-red face, his mouth ajar.

Jack did a double take. “You all right?”

Ianto started, saw Jack staring at him, and went, if possible, even a deeper shade of red.

“Sorry, Sir. I, ah... left something. In the other room,” he said, turning and racing for the door of the boardroom. A folder of paperwork fluttered open in his wake, sending papers winging into the air behind him. He never paused.

"What the hell's his problem?” Owen groused. “This meeting will never be over at this rate.”

Jack stared after Ianto.

"Meeting adjourned." Jack said. “Those of you with reports, leave them on my desk. Owen, you have an hour to come up with one before the end of the day."

Jack watched them go (Owen grumbling about stupid bureaucratic wastes of time as he stormed away), then rose and headed to his office. He had finally found a "project" that caught his interest. And had an hour to prepare for it.

He wouldn't need that long.

\---- ---- ---- ----

Jack would be along in a few minutes, but Ianto needed less than one to scan the living quarters under his office and make his decision.

Jack had had a certain look in his eye since the meeting that wasn't hard to decipher: he was up to something, and it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out what. Not when you knew him as well as Ianto did. Jack was planning a little surprise for Ianto, but this time, Ianto was going to turn the tables.

Ianto had time to take one last look before he heard Jack's footsteps above. He left everything where it was and took up a position in the center of the room. He stretched to his full height, tugging his jacket down with his hands, and waited. 

\---- ---- ---- ----

Jack scampered half-way down the ladder, then let go and dropped the last few feet, landing neatly. He turned--and froze when he saw Ianto standing right in front of him, arms folded and wearing a stern expression.

“Hey there,” Jack said, a smile dawning on his face. I wasn't sure you were down here. It was so quiet.”

“Jack,” Ianto said by way of greeting.“On your knees. Now.”

Jack blinked. “What?” He started to laugh.

“You heard me.”

Jack's laughter stopped abruptly.

“You're serious?”

Ianto's only reply was a steely stare. He hadn't moved to make room when Jack arrived, and Jack was suddenly aware of how in his space Ianto was. They were nearly nose-to-nose.

Jack's eyes traveled down and back up Ianto's stolid and unmoving form, taking in the set of the shoulders, the slightly-spread legs, the sensuous mouth now pressed in a firm line, and realized that Ianto was, indeed, serious.

Jack thought about challenging him. A bit of play-fighting—perhaps even naked wrestling—would be fun. They could follow it up with make-up sex, which would be even more fun.

But, no. Ianto clearly had some sort of agenda, and Jack was curious to find out what it was.

So he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and sank to his knees. His lips quirked in a smile as he looked up to find out what his next order might be.

Ianto pointed to Jack's bunk, where something was sticking out from under the single pillow.

“Tell me, Jack. What is that?”

“That? My bed.”

“And on top of the bed?”

“The pillow?”

Ianto's eyes narrowed. “Don't play dumb, Jack. It doesn't suit you. Try again. What's on top of the bed, underneath the pillow?”

“A ruler,” Jack replied, voice losing some of its levity. Ianto's own voice had gone so cold it was making the temperature in the little room plummet. Or maybe that was just the result of the chills traveling down Jack's spine. Where had Ianto learned to be so commanding?

Oh. Of course. Ianto was doing an excellent of imitation of Jack himself. At least, Jack hoped he sounded that impressive when he was in full-on “you have to do as I say” mode.

“Strange place for a ruler,” Ianto observed. “Were you planning on measuring something down here, Jack?”

Jack thought of a couple of cheeky responses but decided not to voice them.

“No. Sir.”

He'd added the “Sir” on impulse, because it seemed to fit, and he thought it might please the young man towering above him. Ianto's eyes widened for just an instant, then narrowed into slits again, but that was enough. Jack smiled inwardly. Outwardly, he ducked his head, playing at submission.

“Look at me,” Ianto snapped, and Jack's head came up fast. “What were you planning to do with it, then?”

“I was planning to spank you with it. Sir.”

“I see,” Ianto said evenly. “And why were you going to do that?”

“I thought you'd enjoy it.”

“You thought I'd enjoy it,” Ianto repeated, his voice so flat it was impossible to tell what he thought of this idea. “Was that the only thing you were planning to use for my enjoyment?”

“Well, no. I was actually going to start with my hand, then move to the ruler if you... responded well.”

Jack didn't embarrass easily, and he wasn't embarrassed now, but he was starting to feel uncomfortable, and not just from the concrete floor that was making its presence known to his knees. This was not the way he'd envisioned the night going.

“And then? If I 'responded' well? Was there to be more?”

“If it seemed appropriate, Sir.”

“Explain.”

“I have other, ah, implements as well. Sir.”

“Those things in the corner, perhaps?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Name them.”

“A leather paddle. And a rattan cane.”

“An impressive selection. And you thought I'd enjoy you using all that on me?”

“Well, not necessarily. Those were just in case.”

Ianto arched an eyebrow. The gesture was familiar, but Jack took little comfort in it. What had seemed like a good idea at the time was sounding rather silly when expressed out loud. Presumptuous, even. Jack was starting to wonder whether he'd made an error in judgment. This butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth Ianto wasn't giving him any reassurance, either.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I was withholding information from Gwen, would it?”

"What? No! I mean, no, Sir.”

“Good. Then this isn't because I don't think I did anything wrong, either.”

Jack was still trying to work that one out when Ianto suddenly crouched down so that they were face-to face.

“You know what I do think?”

“No, Sir.”

Ianto leaned over and whispered in Jack's ear, “I think it's _you_ that wants to be spanked.”

Jack nearly reeled backwards, but caught himself in time.

“You do?”

Ianto was nose-to-nose again. “I do.”

“Why?” Jack heard himself asking.

"Never mind that.” Ianto said, lifting his hand and running his fingers lightly through Jack's hair. A note of tenderness crept into his voice. “You do, though, don't you?”

Definitely not how this night was supposed to go. But there was no doubt that this turn of events was turning Jack on. The thought the of the young man putting him over his knee was making his cock stir. _Would_ Ianto put Jack over his knee? Jack's height and the closeness of the room might make that a bit awkward, but there were other possibilities. Detailed images of several of them rose in his mind, and when he felt Ianto's fingers threading through his hair, he was lost.

“Yes, Sir,” Jack confessed. “Very much, Sir.”

Ianto smiled, a soft, gentle smile, and stood. Jack tilted his head back to look up at him.

“Then ask me for it,” Ianto said, the tenderness being replaced by coolness once more.

Jack closed his eyes.

Beg, Ianto Jones was going to make him beg, on his knees, to be spanked, and he was going to do it. There was no question in his mind he was going to do it. But he needed a moment to work up to it. Begging was not something that Captain Jack Harkness made a habit of.

 _'Improvise, Harkness,'_ he told himself. _'It's what you're best at, after all.'_

Jack tilted his head further back and put on his best puppy-dog face—all wide eyes and pouty lips—and hoped for the best.

“Please, Sir. If it's not too much trouble, would you please spank me?"

Ianto sucked in his breath—Jack could tell that by the sudden way his chest expanded—but other than that, didn't react.

“How do you want to be spanked, Jack?”

There was only one correct answer to that.

“However you see fit, Sir.” Jack replied.

Ianto studied him, then gave a brief nod.

“Very well.”

 _'Yes!'_ For something he hadn't known he wanted ten minutes ago, Jack felt absurdly elated that Ianto had agreed.

“Hands behind your back,” Ianto said. “Chin up. Face forward.”

Jack snapped into position.

“Good.” Ianto said, touching Jack's head. “Now, I'm going topside for a bit, and I want you to stay like that until I get back. If you move one centimeter in any direction, no one is getting spanked tonight, I'll leave immediately, and you'll spend the night alone. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Just remember that you asked for this.”

Ianto stepped past Jack to the ladder. It was such a tight squeeze that his jacket brushed against Jack's cheek. Jack fought back an impulse to rub his face against the smooth wool.

Ianto disappeared from Jack's line of sight without another word.

Jack shuddered as he listened to the whisper of fine shoe leather on metal as Ianto ascended. He was leaving? Why? And what on earth had he meant by, “Remember that you asked for this?”

Only one way to find out. Jack licked his lips and prepared to wait. The suspense was delicious.

 

True to his word, Jack didn't move the whole time Ianto was gone. He was still kneeling, facing the wall, when he heard footsteps overhead and then the creak of the ladder as weight was put on it. When Ianto landed behind him, Jack's ears also picked up a faint rustle of plastic that hadn’t been there before. Interesting.

“Stand up,” Ianto ordered from behind Jack.

Jack obeyed, his knees cracking in protest.

“Turn around and pull the bed away from the wall.”

Jack took hold of the frame and tugged until Ianto told him to stop. The metal cot was now flush against the ladder. Jack stood, gazing down at the head of it, as Ianto came up behind him.

“Trousers down,” Ianto's voice, low and sultry, came from just behind Jack's left ear.

Jack's bracers were off his shoulders and hanging at his hips in record time, and his shirt was untucked and his belt unbuckled shortly after that. Jack hooked his fingers into the waistbands of both his trousers and his pants and jerked them down. They slid as far as his knees, where they got caught. Jack gave a seductive wriggle of his backside and they fell further.

Behind him, Ianto chuckled.

“Eager, aren't you?”

“Sir, yes Sir!” Jack replied, seeing no point in pretending otherwise. His heart was pounding so loud the young man could probably hear it. Even if he couldn't, Jack's erect member told Ianto all he needed to know about how eager Jack was.

“Kneel down and bend over the bed. Stretch your arms above your head and grab the frame with your hands. And be quick about it!”

Jack obeyed, wrapping his hands around the far edge of the bedframe. The metal felt cool against his palms.

“Do NOT let your cock touch the mattress.” Ianto said, just as that very thing was about to happen. Jack froze, then scooted back a bit. “Or the frame,” Ianto added. “If I catch you rubbing against anything, I'll thrash you so hard you'll be conducting the next team meeting standing up. And the one after that.”

Jack dropped his head until his forehead was touching the mattress. “Yes, Sir.”

Ianto smoothed Jack's shirttail over one bare cheek then slid it up to lightly stroke the skin underneath. “If it gets to be too much, put your arms by your side and I'll stop. Otherwise, you are not to let go of that frame for any reason. Do you understand?”

“Yessir,” Jack affirmed, revising his estimation of Ianto's level of experience with such things upward.

Cool air moved behind him, and he had a moment to marvel at how being half-dressed made him feel more exposed than if he were actually naked. He was all for being naked, but when he was dressed he preferred to be buttoned up properly. He wasn't sure about this half-way state.

Then the hem of his shirt was shoved up around his waist and Jack shivered with anticipation.

_Smack!_

The first blow came without warning. Ianto's hand connected firmly with one cheek, causing Jack to jump, more from surprise than pain. A second blow immediately followed, striking the same spot. Then a third, which was significantly harder as Ianto got the hang of it.

_Smack! SMACK!_

Jack's body jerked forward from the sting of that last one. He pushed himself back into position and braced himself for the fourth blow, but when it came, it landed on the other cheek. Along with two just like it.

_SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!_

Ianto paused and traced circles across Jack's cheeks with his fingertips. Ianto's skin felt cool against his warming flesh, and Jack groaned in pleasure. Then Ianto pinched one cheek sharply, making Jack gasp, and resumed his work.

_SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!SMACK!_

Ianto delivered a volley of blows, alternating cheeks methodically at first, then striking at random. He steadily increased the force of the blows however, causing Jack to squeeze his eyes shut tight, then bite down on his lip to keep from crying out. He succeeded in making no noise, which has proud of. Of course, that was only if gasps and groans didn't count.

Finally, Ianto paused.

“You're taking this very well, Jack. You should see how gorgeous your arse is right now. Like a ripening pomegranate."

“Why don't you take a bite of it then?” Jack asked, thorough panting breaths. His arse felt huge, and hot, and he could well believe it was that red.

Ianto laughed. “Maybe I will, later. For now, I've got something different in mind. A game. You like games, don't you, Jack?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jack replied, promptly.

“Good. This one is simple. It should be very easy for a Master of Implements like you. I've got a special implement here. I'm going to spank you with it, and you're going to guess what it is. The game—and the spanking—ends when you guess correctly. But not before that. Do you understand?”

The term “Master of Implements” had thrown Jack for a second, for it wasn't far off from some of the things he had been called (admiringly by his colleagues, as a curse by his enemies) in the dark days of his past. But Ianto couldn't possibly know just how familiar he was with some of the special implements used to inflict pain on the human body, and if Jack had his way he'd never know.

But no--that had nothing to do with this. He'd be drawing from his more erotic experiences here, of which there were also quite a few. It was a clever idea, Jack had to give Ianto that. But he was sure that the toughest part of this game would lie in drawing it out long enough so that both he and Ianto were satisfied.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Good. Keep your eyes forward at all times. I'm going to strike you with this five times, and then you may guess. Ready?”

“Yes, Sir!”

CRACK!

A rustle of plastic, and then a searing blow landed on both cheeks at once. It felt harder than all the others combined. Jack gasped as body surged forward. He had to force it back into place.

CRACK!!!

Another blow came, harder than the first if possible, and Jack choked down a cry.

_CRACK!!!_

And then Ianto found his rhythm. By the fourth blow the cry had got free of Jack's lips.

_CRACK!!!_

It was a relief to let it out, actually, so Jack cried out again on the fifth.

_CRACK!!!_

Ianto paused. “Your guess?” he inquired, sounding so composed he might have been inquiring about whether it was going to rain next Tuesday.

“It's a ping-pong paddle, Sir.” Jack said, through ragged breaths.

“Wrong,” Ianto said.

_CRACK!!! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!!!_

The last four blows landed arcoss the back of his thighs, and Jack really howled then. It felt like a nest of hornets had attacked him with their stingers and then followed it up with a two-by-four.

“Your guess?”

Jack had deliberately lowballed his first estimate, suspecting all along that the implement was bigger than a ping pong paddle.

“A wooden paddle. A large one.” Jack's voice rang with confidence.

He was picturing one of those oversized paddles American fraternities were so fond of using on their pledges, though where Ianto had procured such a thing, he had no idea. The young man was resourceful, though. He could have produced almost anything from the various storerooms of the Hub and Jack wouldn't have been surprised.

“Wrong”, Ianto said.

Five more blows rained down across his thighs, and Jack felt tears sting his eyes. It was just his body's reaction to the pain, he told himself. He wasn't actually crying.

It was still humiliating, though.

“If it's something from the Archives that's NOT FAIR,” Jack said. Part of him was appalled at how petulant his voice sounded, but most of him didn't care. Being beaten like a misbehaving toddler was making him act like one, apparently.

“Is that your guess?” came Ianto's voice from behind him.

Jack clenched and unclenched his hands on the bar of the bed frame. “Sure,” he said, feeling reckless. And because he had nothing better. He'd been sure it was a wooden paddle.

“Wrong,” Ianto said, and Jack braced himself for more blows.

That didn't come.

“It does belong in the Hub, though, Jack,” Ianto said. “And it's something you see every day. Whether you notice it remains to be seen.”

_CRACK! CRACK!_

Two more, fast and furious, one on each cheek. Jack yelled several curse words in an alien language and fought down the urge to move away from the blows, which was damn near overpowering. Only the knowledge that that would bring his erect member, which hadn't flagged a bit since all this had started, into contact with the bed held him back. Jack shook with the effort to stay in place. And to think clearly.

What the hell could it be? He pictured the rooms of the Hub, trying to work it out. His office—no, there was nothing suitable in there. The autopsy room—lots of potential implements there but nothing that was like a large wooden paddle.

_CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!!!_

“Your turn, Jack.”

He had nothing—unless... “A hairbrush?” He was picturing a large, old-fashioned wooden one, which come think of it would feel a lot like this... that had to be it!

“Wrong.”

Jack braced himself for the next five blows.

_CRACKCRACK! CRACK! CRACK!CRACK!!!_

Jack's smarting arse absorbed five more blows and Jack felt weak all over. Sweat beaded on his brow and streaked his cheeks.

“I don't know!” he heard himself saying, as soon as the blows stopped.

Ianto's fingers, light and soothing, across his burning thighs and arse, and Jack nearly wept.

“Are you giving up, Jack? You can at any time, you know. Just say it. 'I give up.' Know however, that if you do, I'm going to be very disappointed in you. And I'm going to paddle you twenty more times as a forfeit.”

Jack wasn't sure which threat was worse, honestly. Probably the twenty more blows, but not by much. He hated losing, he hated giving up, and at this moment the thought of disappointing Ianto made him feel physically ill. Of course, he could just drop his arms by his sides and avoid any more blows, but that would be another form of giving up, and he wasn't that desperate, yet.

"No,” Jack gasped. “Sir. It's a... wooden spoon.”

Another wild guess that he knew wasn't right. But he had to guess something. He tensed all over, waiting for the blows to fall.

Surprisingly, Ianto spoke. “Which wooden spoon?”

"I don't know!” What kind of question was that? He hadn't even known they had any; the idea had been born from some half-recalled memory of a woman he'd known who'd had a fondness for such things. “One of the ones from the kitchen?”

Ianto chuckled. “Wrong.”

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! _CRACK!CRACK!_

Five more blows peppered his already-sore areas, and Jack stopped trying to resist them. He closed his eyes, let his head and chest fall onto the bed, and let each one propel him forward. He moved only enough to get back into place. His muscles felt limp, exhausted. His pulse throbbed painfully in his arse, thighs, and his straining member.

"Guess."

Ianto's voice seemed like it was coming from a long way away.

“Jack! Pay attention!”

“Mmm? Sir?”

“Guess! Or yield."

Yield. Funny word, that. The more you said it, the funnier it sounded. Yieldyieldyield.

Suddenly the answer burst into Jack's drifting consciousness, as clear as day. The thing that had been abusing him, the thing that was felt like a wooden paddle but stung so much more....

“The Welsh Love Spoon! The one I joked was big enough to serve soup to a giant!”

The decoration that Ianto had installed in the Tourist Office shortly after he'd started at Torchwood. The one with the cut-out pattern that signified "Good Fortune" that must be making a hell of an interesting design on his arse and legs.

“Yes.” Ianto said. “Finally!”

Jack smiled and closed his eyes.

Suddenly Ianto was kneeling beside him, cradling his head, stroking his face and hair.

“Took you awhile, you stubborn bastard, but you got there in the end.”

“Yes, Sir.” Jack agreed.

“Are you all right?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Very good, Jack. We've got a wonderful prize for you for playing today.”

Ianto's hand slid to Jack's throbbing cock and stroked it, the tenderness quite a contrast to the way he'd just been abusing Jack's arse and legs.

It wasn’t long before Jack came, and then he was even better than alright. Pleasure radiated through him for several glorious moments. As it ebbed, it took the last of his strength with it, and he fell limply onto the mattress.

“Come on, up you go.” Ianto maneuvered Jack onto the bed and arranged him so that he was sprawled out on his stomach. He tucked the pillow under Jack's head and then kissed Jack's cheek, allowing his fingertips to trail over his handiwork on Jack's arse.

“You should feel the heat coming off you—you're like a furnace. I'm going to get you some ice for that, and some ice-water to drink as well. Don't move.”

Jack lifted his head and opened one eye to peer at Ianto.

“Is that an order, Sir?”

Ianto laughed and the stern disciplinarian was gone; replaced by a beautiful young man with sparkling eyes, flushed cheeks, and a mouth curved into a soft smile that hinted at pleasures yet to come. “No. Just some friendly advice.”

Jack was inclined to take that advice. The pain had faded into a bearable burn that mingled with the afterglow of his orgasm quite nicely. It felt like the mattress was trying to absorb him, and he was inclined to just put his head down and let it.

He'd just take a wee rest and then see about getting those clothes off Ianto, who had removed his jacket but was otherwise (incredibly, considering how disheveled and debauched Jack felt) still fully dressed. And looking a bit too smug for Jack's liking.

But there was one thing he had to know first.

“Ianto?”

The young man paused half-way up the ladder. “Yes?”

“So does all this mean that you don't want to be spanked?”

Ianto laughed. “I never said that. Sir.”


End file.
